


The GrandStay Detour

by Tamagoakura (orphan_account)



Series: The Various Adventures of a Sex Addict [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Abuse, Anal Sex, Drunk Sex, Heterosexual Sex, Infidelity, M/M, Male Slash, One Shot, Oral Sex, S&M, Sex Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Tamagoakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On his way back home, Matthew Williams stays the night in a hotel and meets a friendly stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The GrandStay Detour

When I pulled into the hotel’s parking lot, it was something like five in the afternoon. I yanked my suitcase from the trunk with some difficulty, struggled with it for a moment, and then made my way to the door as I wondered what had possessed me to try and pack everything I owned instead of just leaving it behind to rot. When your parents are loaded, there’s no point in worrying over every little piece of clothing and knickknack you own. Well, I had been in a hurry to leave Chicago so I just kind of tossed my things together in a flurry and took off, so it was no wonder that my bag felt like it was full of cutlery rather than anything particularly useful.

Of all of the places someone like me could find himself, Sheboygan, Wisconsin, was not one that I had expected to waste any of my time in. With my GPS broken and only the most meager of map-reading skills, I had managed to direct myself to Niagara Avenue some two days off schedule. I could only hope the GrandStay Residential still held the room I had booked. When I finally got inside I let out a little sigh of relief, it was just so warm in the entryway compared to the crisp bite of the fall air. Of course it was nothing compared to the horrendously cold Canadian winters I had the displeasure of dealing with while I was growing up, but that didn’t really make being chilled to the bone any more pleasant.

My attention was immediately snagged by a rather pretty girl standing behind the counter, twirling her curly black hair around her finger and loudly snapping a wad of blue gum. Her full lips shined with gloss and her big brown almond-shaped eyes had just the right dusting of makeup. Not enough to make her look like a whore, but oh boy did it bring out her eyes. She was tapping her long blue fingernails on the hardwood front desk with a bored look on her face. I drug my bag along behind myself until I was standing only about two feet away from her, but she didn’t seem to notice, so I cleared my throat to catch her attention.

She jumped a little and looked around herself, and when she finally saw me she let out a little sigh of relief. “Sorry, mister, I musta’ been zonin’ out there pretty hard to not have seen ya come in.” Well, the way she spoke sure was irritating, but I wasn’t really interested in what she had to say.

“Don’t worry about it, it happens to me a lot.” I gave her my most charismatic smile (which I had been told looked more shy than anything else), pushing a few locks of curly blonde hair from my eyes. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“No prob, man. So ya here for a room, or…?” She tossed her long, thick hair to the side and I couldn’t help but to stare at the way it dusted her smooth shoulder. Wasn’t it too cold to be wearing a tank top?

“I actually reserved one a few days ago. Well, my parents did. Well, one of their secretaries did… It’s for Matthew Williams?” She bobbed a little nod and spun around to clack away at the computer for a few seconds before she turned back to me with a big, sunny smile.

“Yup, yer still on there, all paid up an’ all that.” She handed me a little white card key. “So what brings you out here anyhow? It isn’t exactly tourist season, ya know?”

“I’m heading back to see my family in Canada, actually.” I set my bag aside and leaned to rest my forearms on the desk.

“An’ you’re not, like, takin’ a plane?” She questioned before blowing a big blue bubble.

I gave a little chuckle and winked, “And miss getting to see all of the beautiful sights on the way?”

The bubble popped loudly as her face started to burn bright pink. She let out an awkward little giggle, pulled the gum back into her mouth, and leaned down to be at eyelevel with me. “Well, when you put it like that I guess I get it.”

I reached forward and lightly let the tip of my finger graze across the back of her smooth hand. “So, how old are you, eh?”

“I just turned sixteen, like, a couple months ago.” Came the response through snapping gum.

“…Oh.” I tapped her hand a couple of times, weighing the pros and cons of continuing the line of conversation. Was she worth another stint in jail for a pesky little charge known as “soliciting sex from a minor?” A quick call to the ol’ mom and pop would have me bailed out and on the road again in just a day or two, and jail hadn’t been that bad the last time around… Not with a cell mate that liked fellatio more than he liked claiming he was straight and the hot lady warden who insisted on wearing those ass-grabbing jeans and rode me like a top-notch cowgirl. I chewed my bottom lip as I thought before finally coming to a decision.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were so young.” I cracked a smile and pulled my hand away to pick up my bag again. “Which room was I in?”

“Oh, um, like 204. It’s up the stairs and to the left, you’ll never miss it. If you’ve gone past the pool, you’ve gone too far.” She explained with a slightly disappointed puff of air through her lips.

I thanked her and made my way to the elevator, half relieved and half kicking myself over the choice. One of the first problems with being a self-aware, “recovering” sex addict? Your decision making skills kind of suck when the prospect of getting laid is up for grabs. I hit the button and the doors slid shut, and I was glad that they did because I was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, I’d be out of here before anyone found out anyway, so jail wasn’t even a viable fear.

The last time I thought I could get away with something scot-free I had gotten my ass kicked in the middle of the night outside of my kind-of-but-not-really-boyfriend’s house. My jaw ached just thinking about it. Lesson finally learned, I hope? The shiny metal doors slid open and I lugged my bag out into the hall, looked up and down rows of doors, and decided that left was the way to go. As I passed doors 198, 199, 200, I found myself thinking about the whole mess that jacked up my stay in Chicago.

I had been staying in a pretty nice condo somewhere between the Loop and Millennium park when I met Ivan at a bar on North Garland. He was there with a pair of incredibly desirable women (whom I later found out were his sisters) trailing behind him like some kind of entourage. The second problem with sex addiction lied in finding suitable (I use that word loosely here, of course) partners. It was further complicated when people had a way of looking directly through you more often than not. I didn’t really care which one of them I managed to drag into bed with me, so I just told the bartender (after some fives attempts to catch his attention) to just give the drink I was sending to the first person who reached out for it and tell them it was from me.

I rearranged my hair a bit as I watched the trio from the corner of my eye, apprehensive to see which one I was going to have to pursue. Would it be the short-haired woman with the massive chest? The angry-looking one with the long hair that seemed to be hovering around like a jealous girlfriend? Or the guy with the kind-looking smile and intimidating size?

The missing molar in the upper left of my mouth pretty much explains that one. Oh boy, let me tell you, just because a guy smiles nicely and speaks softly, that doesn’t mean he wont knock you on your ass if you piss him off. Or if someone else pisses him off. Or if he just feels like punching your lights out, for that matter. Ivan was a real bastard, I will attest to that, but he more than made up for it in the sack. I mean, even the most empty person’s figurative void could be filled by that enormous thing. I had always thought he was better suited to porn than he was to botany or whatever the heck it was he did for a living. BDSM porn, of course, because the guy couldn’t seem to get it up until he made me into a crying fool.

He’d work me over in various ways, the style of it depending on the axis of the moon and the rings of Saturn or some other such unknown insanity, until I was a mess of hiccupping sobs and sore everything. I’m not sure how he did it, but he always managed to walk that fine line between kicking the living shit out of me and actually managing to keep me hard in the process. Maybe he was just exploiting my abnormally high sexual appetite? I suppose it doesn’t matter. So, once I had a pretty fine black eye or a split lip or was covered in enough damn bite marks to meet some criteria I didn’t know about, he’d take hold of my hand, lean forward, and kiss me in this gentle way you wouldn’t think him capable as his slow thrusts would pick up tempo.

Soon any discomfort I had been experiencing was totally forgotten and he would just kind of chuckle in his smug way as my ability to form coherent thoughts and sentences slid away into nothingness. I would try to tell him to shut up and stop laughing, but it would always come out as more of a “sh-shuaaaaaah ohgodohgodohgod” than anything I could hang my pride on. I would cum harder than I thought possible, the awesome kind where your toes curl and you can feel it in places that don’t even make sense, like the eyebrows or something. He would change the angle or trajectory or whatever, he never did explain how he did it, and just pretty much rub against my prostate over and over again until I thought I would pass out, and then when he was sure he had me teetering at the edge of over-stimulation he would switch it up again. Cosmo, me personally, and doctors can all attest that the male multiple orgasm is definitely **not** a myth. Nothing really comes out the second time around, is all.

Anyhow, I was a total idiot and he happened to come back early from work one day while I was having a fun little excursion with his big sister’s fantastic tits. That didn’t go over with him very well, obviously, and he nearly beat the life out of my when he finally managed to catch me just outside his house. Now, a well-deserved ass kicking was what I had coming, yeah, but when I heard a loud click and felt the barrel of a gun against the back of my head I felt like he may have been going a little far.

“You told me you loved me.” He had hissed into my ear, and I wanted to say that there was a pretty big separation between saying you love someone when you’re just hanging out and saying you love someone when you’re having sex. Of course I had only said anything similar during the latter, so he should have known that I meant it more like “I love how fantastic this feels” than I did “I love you as a person and would like to remain faithful.” Gladly, his older sister (I never did catch her name, she wasn’t around very often. Something with a ‘K‘, like Katherine, or…) came out at that moment and all but drug him off of me. I think she said something to me, but I was up and out of there far faster than I could have thought possible, what with the horrible bruising and busted nose and all. He knew where I lived, and by the time I had managed to get home he called my house phone. I think I may have had a bit of a concussion at the time, but I’m pretty sure he promised to come and get me, and something bag-of-ferrets insane about bathing in my blood (if I remember correctly). So I threw together everything I could fit into the few convenient bags I had, stuffed them into my trunk, and was out of there faster than you can say “oh good god I’m gonna die.”

I laid low in a motel on West Winona for about a week, waiting for my face to heal after I had a friend (who was a doctor) reset my nose. He was a pretty easy-going guy I had met during my short stint attending sexaholic’s anonymous classes, and one of the few fellow members that had actually turned me down for a roll in the hay. He had kicked the problem ages ago and had been there as more of a sponsor anyway, so it wasn’t too shocking. His consistent claims of “I don’t swing that way” helped with the issue as well, I suppose. While he was in my room fixing my face and checking for other broken bones he asked me why I had stopped attending.

You see, the thing about an addiction is that it isn’t really a problem until it starts putting you or someone else in danger. I wasn’t in danger, never had been, so I didn’t see the point of sticking around. That, and I screwed the class coordinator and came down with a few nasty little body-hoppers that were thankfully cleared up with a quick pill or two. I didn’t have anything permanent like HIV, or herpes, I just had to deal with feeling like I was pissing razorblades for about a week. Pre-urine fear and a few tears a couple of times a day was absolutely worth laying the Class Master, because she was a total pro. Plenty of people wind up in jail for all kinds of things so my half-dozen stays weren’t too serious either. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” as they say.

“Yeah, and what about Ivan’s sister? You should have known that was an idiot mistake.” He had pointed out as he shined his little flashlight in my eyes.

“Well, she just thought he and I were just friends and I didn’t think he’d come home that fast.”

“Dude, that’s no excuse.”

I just shrugged when he told me to be more careful, and he invited me to crash at his place for a while if need be. I shot him down (Dr. Jones had a very fine wife, a pretty little blonde thing from some tiny who-gives-a-crap country close to Switzerland, and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship with any of that mess) and let him know I wouldn’t be around for a while. I called my parents to ask for a little financial help, and got the secretary. She relayed the message and I found myself with a huge increase in my bank account.

Their version of parental love or responsibility had always been made of cold, hard cash. The most important lessons to teach a kid?

1\. Do not speak unless spoken to, children are meant to be seen and not heard.

2\. Stay out of sight unless you are addressed.

3\. Everything can be fixed for a price.

I remember my SA coach once trying to get me to figure out the “root of my addiction.” Was I not hugged enough as a child? Heck no, nanny Marlene was full of hugs for every occasion. Was I denied love from my parents? Hell, if a trip to all of the finest places in Venice as a graduation present wasn’t love, I just don’t know what is. Sure, it was Marlene and I who went while the ‘rents used the time to throw their own lavish parties, but if they didn’t care they wouldn’t have bothered to set the whole trip up. Low self-esteem? Not when I rocked the nicest threads from the most sought-after designers like they were fresh from Target and got my dick wet more often that a deep-sea diver.

Some people choose to eat when they’re bored, or suck down shots when they’re depressed, or shoot up when they’re pissed off. I screw, can’t see the harm in that. I mean, if I’m not supposed to use it, why the hell does it feel so good? Sex should hurt or something, if it’s that bad.

And here I found myself, present day Matthew Williams, standing in the pool area wonder how strongly I’d spaced off to pass my door. The smell of chlorine stung my nostrils and the heat was stifling, I had always disliked indoor pools. It was totally empty, except….

Well oh my, oh me. Totally **not** empty, with the guy floating around in the pool. Dark-skinned, a little on the hefty side with his medium length hair pulled up into a ponytail of dark brown dreads, probably in his early thirties. I rearranged my glasses, gave him a good hard thrice-over, and decided that maybe a little pool time was exactly what I needed to help me relax. I mean, I really did like indoor pools and all.

It didn’t seem like he had noticed me, which was good considering I was standing there ogling like an idiot for a good minute, so I tightened my grip on my bag and hefted it back down the way I had just come. I had somehow managed to walk three doors past my own, which had me rolling my eyes at my stupidity. I went inside and tossed my bag onto one of the chairs before I unzipped it and rummaged around inside. I had to have something to swim in, because it would be weird and a little creepy to just go sliding into the pool in my current outfit of a plain white T-shirt, red hoodie, and fashionably ripped jeans ($150 dollars, because less fabric apparently makes clothes cost more).

I found a couple pairs of runners, a veritable mess of unmatched socks, a few shirts, three pairs of jeans, about twelve hefty mugs (of all things to be tossed in with clothes), and finally near the bottom of the bag was a red and white pair of swim trunks. With a quick roll, tuck, and wiggle, I was out of my street clothes and into the nearly knee-length swimwear. I stopped in the bathroom for a moment to take a much needed piss, primp in the mirror for a second, and brush my teeth before I was out the door and all but tiptoeing back to the pool.

I had expected him to be gone already, but when I peeked around the corner there he was, lounging in the hot tub with a contented little smile and eyes closed. I gave myself a moment, took a few deep breaths (weird how socially awkward I could be, considering) and finally walked to the tub and poked my toe into the water. The heat felt wonderful. I sat on the edge, bit my lip contemplating the shock, and pushed myself over the side to slip into the water with a little wince at the sudden spike in temperature.

I leaned back a little and shuffled around to get comfortable, trying to think of some way to initiate conversation. I very well couldn’t just tap him and say something like “I’m a little bored and you’re not too hard on the eyes, wanna come back to my room and have a little no-strings-attached sex?” Beyond being impossibly embarrassing to try and force something like that out, it wouldn’t look good for me at all. It was one thing to think it, but something else entirely to say it aloud. I didn’t want to come off as easy or anything.

Thankfully, before I could lose my nerve and scuttle off he opened his eyes and looked at me for a moment, apparently surprised to have someone else in the tub with him. He blinked twice and then cracked a smile as he pulled a black bud from his ear. I didn’t recognize the song he was listening to.

“Hi.” He tapped his mp3 player a few times, presumably just turning it down since he didn’t take the other bud out.

“Pleasure to meet you. Matthew Williams.” I held out my hand for him to shake and smiled, glad that he had made the first move. Initiating conversation had never been my strong point, but carrying one was a little easier. All I needed to remember? People loved talking about themselves.

His hand was hot from the swirling water and his grip was strong. Not intentionally painful like Ivan’s, or somehow full of this smug self-assurance and excess energy like Dr. Jones, but just… firm. It was a nice change from what I had apparently grown accustomed to in the past few months. He told me his name was Max Something-that-wasn‘t-important-enough-to-remember and yes, he was in fact sans family. Work trip, you see. There was no way his wife would want to tag along.

Wife, huh? No problem. I could handle that, it wasn’t a total rejection. I asked him what he did and soon we fell into an easy rhythm of conversation.  He kept a pretty nice job doing something I was too preoccupied by trying to position myself at an attractive angle to really pay attention to, and his hobbies included things like;  I wasn’t listening, don’t remember, and don’t care. I fabricated some tale about how I was going to see an old friend with some paid vacation time and he was politely interested. He asked a few questions here and there, to which I made believably vague answers.

Eventually, after maybe a good forty minutes of this he offered beer, and of course I agreed. So he bid a short farewell and pulled himself out from the water with the little grunt. As he was pulling a tiny, cheap hotel towel over himself, I turned to face him completely. “I read somewhere that drinking in a hot tub was actually a really bad idea. It can cause strokes and stuff.”

“Really? Well if that’s the case, I guess-”

“We could have a drink in your room, or mine if you’d prefer.”

He stood there a moment, contemplating it, then smiled down at me. “Sounds like a good idea. Do you want to play poker or something?”

I nodded and pulled myself out of the hot water, wincing slightly at the now cold-feeling air on my wet skin. As it turned out, we didn’t have to walk far, since his room was directly across from mine. The inside was a flipped copy of my own room, down to the fabric of the chairs and the painting on the wall. He had a large brown suitcase sitting in the corner and a laptop computer on the desk, complete with the screensaver with the pipes.

He cleared a McDonald’s bag and a few wrappings from the table before he produced a deck of cards from the dresser drawer at the left of the bed’s headboard. “Did you want to go change first?”

I looked down at my moist swimming trunks and shrugged. “Thanks, but I’m fine. It doesn’t really matter.” I slid into one of the two chairs that were huddled around the small table and waited for him to do the same. The cards were dealt, two frosty Coors served, and the game was soon underway.

I studied my hand, not really trying to win, and tapped the top of my can. “Poker is more fun with bets, but I don’t really have any cash on me. Would you happen to have a card reader on you?” I joked, and he chuckled.

“How about we bet drinks?” He suggested before draining his first beer.

“I don’t know, I’d feel bad if I beat you so bad you end up hung over tomorrow when you have things to get done.”

“You? Beat me? You’re a funny guy, but Canada does have a pretty good track record with comedians.” Soon, we were betting drinks on hands and I stepped up my game. No point in getting completely sloshed and passing out or something. Flushes, straights, pairs, everything ended with one of us knocking back beer after beer until we eventually gave up on trying to actually play the game properly.

“I… I think I should probably stop.” Max declared, standing up so abruptly that he almost sent himself tipping backwards. I watched him stumble over to his bed and plop down onto his back before I slowly approached him. I stood there a moment, watching him just lie there with his eyes closed. He had more body hair than I was accustomed to. Coarse black strands, lightly curled, across his chest and on his belly, leading down in a little trail beyond the hem of his dark green trunks.

I don’t remember the last time something as inconsequential as a little extra fuzz stopped me, so I quietly dropped to my knees at the edge of the bed, between his dangling legs. I set my hand on his knee, gauging his reaction, and when he only gave a little half-grunt I trailed my touch up to his thigh. Although he wasn’t completely passed out, he only kind of grumbled and squirmed a bit by the time my fingertips brushed lightly over the bulge hidden by his shorts. I put the tiniest amount more pressure on his crotch as I rubbed it, biting my lower lip as it started getting hard.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asked me without moving, one eye cracked open and watching me.

It was time to turn on the charm, and I knew exactly what to do, since “straight guy plus booze” often had the same outcome if I played my cards right. I worked up a little blush, which wasn’t hard considering how admittedly drunk I was, and looked up at him through my lashes while softly chewing my lower lip. “Did you want a blow job?” Direct, to the point, no beating around the bush; the juxtaposition of “innocent looking” and “sexually direct” always seemed to work well in these kinds of situations.

He sat up about halfway, leaning on his left arm, and snatched my wrist to pull my hand away from his crotch. “I’m not gay.”

I lightly dislodged myself from his grip as I spoke, “Neither am I.”

He raised an eyebrow and leaned back again, propped up by his elbows, and said nothing. Well, that was a go-ahead if I’d ever seen one, so I scooted a little closer and pulled the hem of his shorts down to expose a dark tuft of curly black neatly trimmed pubic hair and his semi-hard dick. I cast him a quick glance, he looked a little apprehensive, and leaned forward to take it into my mouth in one fluid movement. It was thick and warm and slightly soft in my mouth, and the piercing scent of chlorine filled my nostrils as I swallowed it down to the base before pulling back up with as much suction as I dared create for fear of cramping my jaw too early.

There’s just something about feeling a man get hard in your mouth. I mean, having it already that way from the get-go is fine and all, but sensation of it getting firmer and firmer between you lips screams “I’m getting it up for _you_ , I’m focused on _you,_ and I’m ready to fuck you into the ground.” I’ve never really figured it out, but there was just something so satisfying about that…

He was fully hard as I sped my ministrations, sucking and swirling my tongue as I let out little moans here and there to really get him into it. I was surprised; Max’s cock was almost the same thickness as Ivan’s. Only slightly smaller, and not as long, but it was still pretty shocking to come across two men so blessed in the junk department in such a short period of time. I mean, “average” dick size was called “average” for a reason, and this guy belonged in the “AP classes” of Penis University.

The feeling of his thick fingers lightly taking my hair distracted to my admittedly ridiculous train of thought and brought me back to my current position, which happened to be blowing some guy who I didn’t really know in a relatively random hotel. The salty taste of pre-cum began to mix with the pool water/ skin taste and I moaned for real, the thought of his thick load coating my tongue filling my mind.

But I didn’t want to trade a good hard screw for it, so after a few easy deep-throat attempts, I pulled away from him with an audible ‘pop.’ I was a little out of breath, and sure my cheeks were flushed. “Fuck me.”

“I’m not really sure how….”

“Ever done anal?” He nodded. “Same thing as with a woman, I’m just lacking in the vagina department.”

Max opened his mouth for a moment, then closed it and looked seemingly everywhere but me, blush growing on his cheeks. It was surprisingly cute.

“Just lay back, I can handle this.” I reassured him, and he obeyed. I stood up, wincing a little at the ache in my knees, and wiggled out of my shorts before I went about working his down and off. One more quick fellatio stop was needed to make sure it was good and wet, and then I straddled his thick hips. When I took hold of his dick and started aiming, he finally spoke up.

“Don’t you need a little, I don’t know, prep for this? I don’t want to hurt you or anything.”

I chuckled lightly, couldn’t help it, as I aimed and started pushing down onto him. “It’s alright,” was all I said, since something like _that’s really cute, but I haven’t needed that kind of thing in years_ was admittedly kind of a turn-off to hear. The thick head pushed firmly against me before starting to slowly slip inside. It hurt a little, yeah, but wasn’t it supposed to? I took a deep breath, relaxed, and slowly exhaled as I forced myself down to the base.

I couldn’t help but give a breathy little laugh at my own skill (gotta be proud of something, am I right?), relishing in the slight ache and feeling of fullness. It was absolutely _fantastic_ , thick and hard and oh so hot. I licked my lips and looked down at Max, who was looking back at me with a mix of shock as to how easily I had taken him, desire, and the tiniest hint of suspicion. Not wanting him to think poorly of me and change his mind, I quickly lifted myself until it was just at the edge before dropping back down with a little yelp of pleasure.

I quickly found a rhythm riding him, and put my hands on his chest to help support my weight so I didn’t tire myself out too fast; I mean, it had to have been something like a good week or two since I had gotten laid. It felt amazing after such a long time: the pleasurable stretch of my ass, the pressure of his thick dark cock inside of me, the growing burn of exertion in my thighs, his firm grip on my hips. For a moment I wondered if I could manage to cum without touching myself, but tossed the idea aside. Only Ivan had ever managed that.

I was gasping and panting and probably a little sweaty as I leaned back a bit to let Max’s dick slide against my prostate a little better. Balancing myself with one hand on his thigh, I used the other to start stroking myself, and closed my eyes to focus on the sensation. It was so rewarding to have sex that wasn’t too rough, too painful. To be in the driver’s seat for once.

He squeezed my hips a little tighter and thrust harder, each relentless pump sending waved of liquid pleasure through my lower body until I was so, so close.

“I’m gonna cum.” He stated, working to lift me up and off.

I pushed my hips down, grabbing his shoulders for better leverage as I forced him as deeply inside of me as I could. “Inside!”

He slammed into me a few more times, so hard the impact sent sharp jolts of intense pleasure straight into my dick, and came. The sudden, hot feeling was more than enough to make me follow suit shortly. I cried out, a little too feminine for my tastes, and came onto his belly.

I sat there a moment, catching my breath and relishing in the limp-limbed afterglow a good orgasm always offered, before slowly lifting myself from his softening member. His cum, lightly tinged pink with a little blood, dribbled out of me to land on his pelvic area and slide down my thighs, cooling uncomfortably fast in the controlled hotel air. I grimaced in disgust, looking around for anything to clean myself up with and apologizing.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll just shower it off in the morning.” Max muttered, obviously beginning to drift off.

“I had fun.” I said for no real reason beyond easing the awkwardness of collecting my shorts and pulling them on as fast as I could in order to make a quick retreat back to my own room.

He only grunted in agreement, rolling over and pulling the blanket up over himself. I gave a soft goodbye and all but tip-toed out of the room, flicking the light off on my way out. I was more than glad that my room was less than five steps away, and let myself in with a sigh of contentment. I could worry about showering the next day as well. I stripped off my shorts, tossed them into the corner, and flopped into bed.

The sit in the hot tub, booze, and finally a little sex had really worn me out. I still had a long way to go on my journey to the safety of the old estate, so I let myself drift off with a contented little sigh.

 

* * *

 

When I awoke, it was pitch black and I couldn’t breath past whatever it was clamped tightly over my mouth and the weight on my chest. Heart pounding, I tried to cry out but couldn’t, and my blood ran cold as my eyes adjusted to the dark and noticed the window open and shabby white curtains flapping in the cool night’s wind.

Violet eyes flashed as he spoke, voice full of a terrifying kind of mirth. “I found you, Matvey.”

 

 

A/N:

This was supposed to be a complete and total PWP, but somewhere along the lines it developed about half a plot. Not sure how that happened, hahaha. I’ve never written sex scenes from the first person before, so please excuse the terrible way this reads. Third person is really the easiest thing for me, but I felt like challenging myself. Never grow as a writer without practice, am I right?

Reviews are welcome and very much appreciated. If you’re reading my story Sunder, you may have noticed it’s absence. It was hidden without me noticing, and should be back up shortly. Please check my Author Page for more information, since I update it pretty regularly.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Axis Powers: Hetalia, the GrandStay Residential, or McDonalds. This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to the lives of any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. I make no money from this fan-made product.


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